


Hey Caduceus Come Eat This Snail

by madelinescribbles



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant until Proven AU, Gen, Just Really Wholesome, Pre-Canon, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madelinescribbles/pseuds/madelinescribbles
Summary: A young Caduceus Clay gets into some trouble. To quote the great Taliesin Jaffe: “Around his siblings, he’s a trashfire.”(With art byapricotsandlemondots)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for so long, posting it feels surreal. Please enjoy! Updates weekly!
> 
> Thank you so much to the amazing [apricotsandlemondots](https://apricotsandlemondots.tumblr.com/) who agreed to make the art for this! If you haven't seen [her Critical Role art](https://apricotsndots.tumblr.com/tagged/criticalrolefanart), you're missing out.

“Hey, Caduceus, come eat this snail!” Calais calls.

One of Caduceus’ ears flops up instinctively to better track the direction of the noise. Sounds like Calais is not that far south, probably close to the Wall on Big Hill.

As Caduceus stands, he carefully places a final glass tile into the pattern imprinted on a currently unclaimed patch of gravesoil, sticking his tongue out and pointing a toe to help balance, trying to keep from falling onto his elaborate mosaic.

(Elaborate as can be for a 7-year-old with a small sack of 20 tumbled glass pieces.)

He nods in approval of the completed mural; a glass toad sitting on a lily pad in the middle of a pond at sunset.

(It’s a green clump in the middle of an orange square.)

“Hurry up, Doodoo!” Calais calls again, using the nickname Caduceus hates.

He scoops up the sack of his remaining glass pieces in his fist and takes off through the grove.

“Hurry!” That’s Camilla yelling now; it must be a serious snail. The terrain steepens so Caduceus holds the sack in his teeth and drops to all fours, picking up speed to keep his momentum up Big Hill.

He scrambles to the top without looking and collides head-first with Camilla’s kneecap. They both yelp in pain, the bag of smooth glass falls from Caduceus’ mouth spilling everywhere. Camilla collapses on top of him with a second undignified squawk.

“Watch where you’re going, Doodoohead!”

Caduceus ignores her and jumps to his feet, which makes her fall off of him and hit the dirt with another thump.

“Snail!” He whips his head around, darting his eyes across the clearing for it.

After a few rounds of practically chasing his tail in different directions, he gives up and turns to Camilla, who’s still spread eagle on the ground.

“Where’s the snail?” He asks politely.

He forgot that he stole Camilla’s dinner roll last week and instead of the snail he gets his feet swept out from under him and he’s on his back, looking at the trees above him.

Dazed, he traces his eyes across the canopy. The leaves are dark against the bright blue sky, flitting in the breeze and creating tiny openings for sunbeams to fall though. A few streams dance across his eyes and he blinks until they pass.

Once he adjusts them, there’s dark shape perching very still in the tree. It’s bulky but long, with thin dark streaks along the underside.

Caduceus bolts upright.

“Calais! Give me the snail!”

The goanna in the tree licks its own eye lazily.

“Please!” Caduceus tacks on as he stands.

The goanna flicks its tail.

Caduceus pouts and assesses the situation. The branch is too high for a firbolg to climb, and he doesn’t know any magic except Light. Camilla is still laying on the ground, refusing to help.  (She’s a few seasons younger than Calais and has less magic, but she can still polymorph.)

So he opts to jump and and down and be annoying until Calais gives him what he wants or Camilla murders him to mushrooms.

Jump.

“Cal!”

Jump.

“Cal!”

This goes on for a while. Caduceus is very young and therefor has an unlimited well of physical endurance.

Jump.

“Ca-”

“Calais show him the weird snail already or I’ll Blight the tree,” Camilla snaps from the ground.

The goanna’s form warbles and expands slowly into an adolescent grey firbolg with navy blue hair. He’s perched lazily in the curve where branch meets trunk, with a tiny snail stuck to the knuckles of his right hand.

“No you won’t, Mama loves this tree,” he says.

“I wanna see it!” Caduceus whines.

Calais raises an eyebrow. “You know the deal, Doodoo.”

“But I don’t wanna!” he stamps his foot.

“Then you can’t see the snail,” Calais shrugs.

“Why do I have to eat it?” Caduceus asks, “Why can’t I just see it?”

“Sorry, Caduceus, I don’t make the rules.”

(He did make the rules. It was just a snail. If Caduceus was smarter he could probably just find his own snail to look at. But Caduceus was 7. And he was told his entire life that if he saw a snail, he had to eat it.)

“Then why don’t you have to eat it?” Caduceus asks in a flash of brilliance.

“We both ate different snails before this one,” Camilla says, “We already made our sacrifices to the Wildmother for the snails. Now it’s your turn.”

(The Wildmother didn’t demand a sacrifice. In fact, watching a small firbolg eat a snail in her name probably reasonably disturbed her.)

Caduceus crosses his arms over his chest. He hates eating snails. But he doesn’t want to make the Wildmother sad. Mama says she does a lot for him. She’s the reason he can cast Light.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Just lemme see it first.”

Calais flashes a grin and Caduceus thinks he hears Camilla snicker from the ground behind him, but when Calais drops from the tree and holds the snail out towards him, he doesn’t give it a second thought.

The snail is small, about the size of a sunflower seed, and a deep grayish purple. It reminds Caduceus of an overripe blueberry, in a way. Gingerly, he plucks it from Calais’ knuckles and places it in his own palm.

“Hello, snail,” he does a little wave. The snail does not have arms and therefore cannot wave back, but Caduceus likes to think it would if it could. 

(It wouldn’t, but that’s not Caduceus’ fault. People - and snails - are cruel sometimes.)

“You’re very pretty,” he tells the snail, “I’ve never seen a snail like you before.”

It isn’t just flattery; he really truly has never seen and/or eaten a snail of this color before. Looking closely, it’s body is grey, and its shell a muted purple with black tendrils marbled underneath that catch in the light.

As he leans in closer to watch this effect, he catches a whiff of it. Which is odd, because snails don’t normally smell particularly strong. This one, however, was overpowering and familiar.

“It smells like that Stutyard guy we buried last week,” he says mildly, still angling his wrist to see the details of the shell.

In front of him, Calais stiffens. Caduceus traces his nervous gaze to Camilla, who’s looking back with equal peculiarity.

“Hey, Caduceus,” Calais says, eyes still locked with Camilla, “I need that snail back.”

He curls his other hand protectively around the snail. “Why?”

“It’s important, Cad, just give it back to him,” Camilla’s voice has a dangerous edge of fear and she’s slowly standing up.

His gaze darts back and forth between his two older siblings, who are slowly closing in on him.

“But I have to eat it or the Wildmother will get mad and take away my magic,” he says, taking a step back. His heart is starting to pound; he’s never seen his family this distressed before and it’s making him skittish by proxy.

“That’s just a joke, Caduceus, give the snail to Cal,” Camilla says.

“N-no, you’re lying so you can have the snail,” he takes a few steps back and stumbles a little on the start of the hill’s incline. This is probably the most fear Caduceus has ever felt in his very sheltered life.

“Give me the snail, Caduceus!” Calais shouts and leaps at him.

In panic and on reflex, Caduceus slams his palm to his mouth and swallows the snail like a pill.

A millisecond later Calais hits him like a runaway wagon and they go tumbling down Big Hill. He gets the air knocked out of him on the first bounce.

Another tumble and he hits his head, hard. It dazes him for a moment and he tastes a little blood in the back of his throat. Caduceus realizes knee scrapes and wrestle fights are nothing compared to the pain he feels now.

Another tumble and his much bigger brother lands on his leg. Caduceus hears a sickening crack and a jolt of pain so intense that he nearly blacks out.

With a final thud they land at the bottom of Big Hill, Calais on top of Caduceus in a pin. He tries to struggle free, but between the much heavier weight of his brother and his injuries, he just goes limp and starts to cry, trying not to think about the pain in his head and leg. He’s grappled.

Calais shoves a finger into Caduceus’ mouth and starts swabbing.

“Nnh!” he tries to shout in protest, shaking his head back and forth to dislodge it.

After a few seconds of dirt-caked nails scraping all over his gums to no avail, Camilla comes sprinting down the hill next to them and uses her momentum to dive-tackle Calais clean off of him. 

“You’re hurting him!” she shouts, holding her brother down with one hand and casting Healing Word on Caduceus with the other outstretched.

His headache clears instantly, the taste of blood receding. The mixed sensation of numbness and jolting pain in his leg fades. Warily, he sits up, thumbing his ear for comfort. The worst of it is gone, but he still feels a sharp pain deep in his tummy.

“It’s not in his mouth,” Calais says urgently, “We need to get him to spit it up.”

Camilla looks back and forth between the frenzied Calais and the distressed Caduceus, making a decision. Caduceus, who is quite scared of his brother by now, blinks tears out of his eyes and scoots away.

“Okay,” Camilla says, “I’ll hold him and you do it.”

A very terrified Caduceus actually vomits unprompted, all over himself, right there in the grass.

Calais and Camilla stare at him in stunned silence, both of their mouths hanging open. Before they can come to their senses, Caduceus scrambles to his feet, taking off through the grove and towards the house.

Luckily, it’s a straight sprint from Big Hill to the center of the grove. By the time he reaches the graveyard, he can hear his siblings gaining on him. Every step sends a jolt of pain through his gut, but he forces himself to push harder and maintain distance.

The door to the temple opens and some deep survival instinct tells Caduceus to break left for it. With a deft sidestep he changes direction, just in time for Calais to tackle the air where he would have been.

One sibling down and the other in hot pursuit, Caduceus beelines for whoever stepped out of the temple. A pang stabs through his stomach and he stumbles slightly, narrowly avoiding being caught by Camilla’s sweeping arm.

As he approaches, he realizes the figure outside the temple is Mama, which is probably the greatest thing to happen to him all day. He gets a second wind and dashes the rest of the distance, diving behind her and into the temple before she can comprehend what’s happening.

Luckily, Mama recovers in time to block the doorway from Camilla, who crashes into her and falls on her butt outside.

“What is going on?” Mama asks, gently peeling Caduceus from where he’s plastered to the floor of the temple. “Oh,” she gasps as he stands shakily, “Caduceus, honey, you have sick all over your romper! What happened?” She shoots a worried glance outside the temple at Camilla, but Caduceus starts tattling first.

“Calais and Camilla made me eat this snail that-”

A grass-stained Calais stumbles into the doorframe.

“He’s lying! I told him to give it back to me but he-”

Caduceus vomits all over his romper again.

Mama fixes Calais with a hard glare.

“I know this looks bad, but it actually wasn’t my fault this time.”

And then Caduceus crumples to the floor in an unconscious heap.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caduceus is surrounded by nothing. He doesn’t like it.

Caduceus is surrounded by nothing. It’s very confusing for someone who has spent their entire life surrounded by buzzing insects, soft grass, and seven shouting siblings to be surrounded by nothing. He doesn’t like it.

Everything is black, but his eyes are open and he can see his hands if he holds them up to his face. There is nothing solid around him either; he seems to be floating in this void without ground or walls. It’s absolutely silent in a way he’s never heard before. He can’t even hear himself breathing - he hasn’t _been_ breathing.

Before he can properly panic about that, a flash of light sears across his vision. Caduceus cowers and shields his eyes, but it doesn’t do much; the light pierces through his eyelids. He curls into a fetal position and whimpers feebly.

The intensity of the light fades, and he makes another weak noise before cracking one eye open.

In front of him is a beautiful woman, adorned with flowers and ivy, smiling gently and emitting a soft green light. The former silence of the void is now filled with the faint sound of rushing water.

Caduceus, curious yet still afraid, uncurls his legs but keeps his arms wrapped firmly around his torso in a self-hug.

“Hello,” the woman says. Her mouth does not move but he somehow knows it’s from her. The voice reminds Caduceus of crickets, croaking toads, and the songs of starlings in the morning.

“Hello,” Caduceus whispers back, his voice catching in awe.

The woman chuckles and it feels like thousands of fireflies twinkling in an open field.

“Do you know why you’re here, Caduceus?” The woman asks.

Caduceus is so starstruck it takes him a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. But suddenly memories come flooding back to him of a snail, a broken leg, a chase, and passing out in the doorway of the temple.

“I got sick,” Caduceus frowns.

The woman tilts her head. An avalanche of rock breaks off and cascades down a mountain. Caduceus doesn’t know what a mountain is, but the sensation is breath-taking.

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” the woman says, “Though it was really more of a curse. You shouldn’t go around eating strange snails, Caduceus.”

Now Caduceus tilts his head. It doesn’t echo any forces of nature, but his ear does flop up into his hair.

“But if I don’t eat the snails the Wildmother will be mad at me,” he says, “and then she’ll take her blessings away and I’ll be sad.”

The woman raises an eyebrow and a bird of prey snatches a mouse from the tall grass of a field.

“You probably won’t remember much of this conversation, Caduceus, and you’re about to go back. But if you take away one thing, know that the Wildmother already favors you.” She paused, “And perhaps just don’t listen to your siblings.”

He feels like he just swallowed a spoonful of honey on a cool summer’s day. He opens his mouth to answer, but there’s a tug at his back, and the form of the woman gets rapidly smaller as he is whisked away. Eventually she fades into a pinprick in the distance.

His eyes get heavier and heavier as he picks up speed, until finally he succumbs to the void and blacks out once more.

 

* * *

 

Caduceus bolts upright when something like fire pierces his lungs and drags him to consciousness. He has time to take about two hyperventilating gulps of burning air before a forceful hand shoves him back down onto a hard surface.

The whole thing would remind him of wrestling with Clarabelle and Corrin, except for the searing pain all over his body. Tears prick at his eyes and he looks up into the face of Mama, eyes closed and murmuring a prayer, the holy Pendant of Melora in her hand faintly glowing as she holds it over him. Calais is beside her, the one holding him down, and a phantom pain shoots down his leg at the sight of him. Out of reflex, he begins struggling, kicking and swinging.

He manages to crack Calais in the nose with his foot and a little blood trickles out, but his brother doesn’t budge. Before he can try again, a cool wave of peace washes over him and he lets his limbs relax. Camilla appears beside Calais, finishing the last words of a Calm Emotions.

Sedated, he takes steadying breaths, letting the spell wash over him. His entire body still aches, but less so now that Mama’s healing is taking effect. The pain in his lungs is reminiscent of the contests with his siblings to see who can stay underwater the longest; the more he breathes, the better he feels.

(Caduceus tries not to wonder why he wasn’t breathing while he was asleep, which is good, because he wasn’t really asleep, he was dead.)

The sharp pulsing from his stomach, however, doesn’t ebb. Even as Mama’s spell chases the exhaustion from his limbs and cloudiness from his head, he still feels something roiling in his gut like a snake in the mud. 

After a few seconds that feel like hours, Mama opens her eyes and the holy symbol stops glowing. She gives Calais a nod, and he pulls his hand from Caduceus’s chest. Immediately, he curls into the fetal position in an attempt to alleviate the pain in his stomach, but it doesn’t have any effect. He tosses, turns, and stretches, but it doesn’t go away.

“What hurts, Caduceus?” Mama asks. There’s a warm hand now cradling the back of his head, stroking it in comfort.

“Tummy,” he can barely groan anything coherently. It feels like something is trying to rip out of him.

“Do you need to throw up?” Camilla asks, and Caduceus knows as she says it he’s going to be spewing chunks within the next 0.25 seconds.

He leans over the side of the table - which is how he discovers he is indeed laid out on the kitchen table of the house - and vomits into a bucket that Camilla apparently had waiting.

“It’s gonna be like this for a few days.” Mama says gently. “You went through something most little boys don’t go through, and your body doesn’t like it.”

Caduceus doesn’t have it in him to form words so he groans in response.

Whether he likes it or not, time passes. The table is uncomfortable so they carry him to the siblings’ nest, and he manages not to throw up in-transit until the bucket returns to his hands. Mama gives him some tea meant to alleviate stomach pain, but it doesn’t stay down for more than ten minutes.

The rest of the family pops in to see him one by one. CJ and Papa stop by first, thoroughly questioning him on what happened between vomiting spells.

They’re particularly interested in his description of the snail, grilling him for every detail he can recall; sight, smell, even taste. Why he thought it smelled like the Stutyard body. They really want to know that.

“Because it wasn’t normal dead,” Caduceus says like it’s obvious. It is to him. The Stutyard body was found in the woods, already decaying and bloated despite the fact that the man had been missing for less than 24 hours. When Papa and CJ handed it off to him and Clarabelle to bury, all grey and decomposing, it didn’t smell like it looked. It smelled alive, but not in any way that meant the Stutyard was about to sit up and start talking - it was as if the death itself was a living organism. Like the life found in maggots eating away at a body, but found in the decay instead.

It was hard to put into words, especially for such a little boy, but Caduceus tries his best.

“Smelled alive-ish.”

CJ and Papa share a weird look. Caduceus starts to explain himself but devolves into another fit of vomiting into what as become known as Deucey’s Super Special Sick Bucket.

They leave shortly after.

Corrin and Clarabelle burst in eventually, the former carrying Cleo in their arms and the latter pouncing on top of him, declaring a wrestling match. They have a right to be there, given it’s their bed too, but the encounter results in both Caduceus and Clarabelle covered in sick. A hoarse Caduceus apologizes as Mama drags the three out of the room.

A few minutes later they come back in, freshly clean and skirting around the edge of the nest. Clarabelle holds up a leather bag inquisitively. Caduceus nods and they spend the next few hours making stained glass murals and playing tic tac toe. Corrin had always been quieter and Cleo can’t speak yet so Clarabelle does most of the talking, with Caduceus chiming in a word or two when he can muster the energy. He doesn’t have to, though; Clarabelle goes on and on about so many topics that the rest of them lose track. She starts with describing a new flower she found by the wall and strings together a run-on sentence so rambling that she’s talking about the migration of bees before she puts a period anywhere.

Most days, Caduceus thinks Clarabelle is pretty weird, but today he’s grateful to have her around. She takes his mind off a lot.

Calysta is the last sibling to stop by. She stumbles into the bedroom covered in sweat and smelling like the little forge on the edge of the grove. Caduceus is pretty sure she would have passed out on top of him (while Clarabelle kept talking) if Corrin hadn’t nudged her.

She looks with wide eyes over the congregation of little siblings, Clarabelle rambling aimlessly, Cleo sucking on a tile, Corrin watching them curiously, and Caduceus holding his Super Special Sick Bucket.

She about-faces out the door. Caduceus and Corrin share a glance at the urgent murmuring of voices outside - she’s talking to Mama.

When Calysta returns she lays down next to Caduceus at the edge of the nest and says nothing for a long time. He turns his attention back to Clarabelle, who either doesn't notice or doesn't care about Calysta's presence, and continues telling some convoluted story that everyone with sanity has lost track of.

“No one told me what happened, Caduceus,” Calysta says finally, quiet enough that only he can hear. She sounds on the edge of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Caduceus doesn’t really know how to respond to that. Calysta was always the most empathetic sibling. She rarely ever teases, and even more rarely picks fights. Caduceus thinks it has something to do with the time she spends in the forge by herself.

Papa says Calysta is called to the Wildmother on a different path than the rest of the siblings. Since she was little she was very good with the family sword, and the Wildmother called her to take up arms and defend Her domain with strength more than magic. So Papa built a tiny forge where Calysta repairs the sword and makes armor and beats up wooden people and prays about it. Sometimes she fights monstrous things in the woods that get too close to the grove. Caduceus thinks it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen, but he’s just not good at sword fighting like Calysta was at his age. None of the siblings are.

This is all to say that Calysta spends a lot of her time alone, and when she does come out for dinner and bed, she’s very sensitive. She doesn’t have the same thick skin from bickering and wrestling all day. Her heart bleeds for her siblings.

(So when Calysta came home to find out her little brother had died, she took it pretty hard.)

In that moment, when Calysta apologizes to him for something she didn’t do, Caduceus, whose own mortality is starting to catch up with him, understands a lot about her. And his heart bleeds a little too.

“It’s ok.” He says, because he doesn’t have the energy to put all that into words.

Calysta nods and grabs Caduceus’ hand, closing her eyes. She holds on until she drifts to sleep.

After that the rest of the siblings return to the nest one by one. Corrin puts the glass away, Clarabelle’s rambling pewters out, and all eight Clay children curl up in a big pile for a long night’s rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @[okiedokeTM](https://okiedoketm.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and always excited to talk about critical role! don't hesitate to come yell and/or meme with me ✌🏻


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama had said Caduceus would start to feel better in the morning. He’s real upset that she lied to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is but a day late! life happened.
> 
> and how about that claybies mattress prank story on talks last week? adorable! apricot made some [cute art](https://apricotsandlemondots.tumblr.com/post/185216594197/i-wanna-thank-mr-taliesin-for-canon-shenanigans) for it.

Mama had said Caduceus would start to feel better in the morning.

He’s real upset that she lied to him.

Caduceus feels horrible - maybe even worse than the day before. The vomiting certainly seemed so. It wasn’t necessarily higher frequency, but it hurt more coming up; more acidic.

He lets himself moan miserably as the rest of his siblings get ready for morning chores, younger ones shedding pajamas for rompers and the older ones pulling tunics and robes over their heads. Corrin, who’s dressing Cleo, gives him a look of sympathy. Clarabelle continues humming idly as if she doesn’t notice - she likely doesn’t. Calais and Camilla, who are grounded with a week of re-etching the old gravestones for daring Caduceus, stick out their tongues in unison.

CJ is already on his way out, but ruffles Caduceus’ hair affectionately. He wrinkles his nose in annoyance but doesn’t fight it. CJ (whose full name is Cornelius Jr. but no one calls him that except Papa) is a lot older than him, and tends to spend more time with Papa than the rest of the siblings. He does let Caduceus ride on his shoulders when he tags along on their Work , though, and brings him candy from the city, so he’s allowed to do things like ruffle his hair.

The rest of the siblings trickle out from oldest to youngest, except for Calysta, who takes her time strapping on her armor. Caduceus watches curiously; he’s normally left the nest with Clarabelle or Corrin by now, and the armor that Calysta actually keeps in the closet instead of her forge is much more decorative and thus rarely used. Watching her put it on is like watching Mama weave tapestries for the chapel; awing grace in movement and a surge of satisfaction when patterns fall into place.

Eventually Calysta notices Caduceus staring and smiles.

“There’s a consultation today,” she explains, nodding at the unfastened breastplate in her hand, “Me, Papa, and CJ are going to talk to the Ralowenys family about an extended lot.”

“Why are _you_ going?” Caduceus asks, his voice hoarse.

“Because they already have the extended lot, they just haven’t paid for it,” she lifts her longsword, “and nature can be cruel.”

Caduceus breaks into a huge grin. Calysta snaps the final plate into position and picks up the sword, flipping and twirling it with expert flourishes just to make him cheer. For the finale, she balances it on her finger by the pommel.

Caduceus breaks out in applause. Calysta preens and bows dramatically. “Thank you! Thank you! I’m here all week.”

“Calysta!” Papa calls from outside the house, “Are you ready?”

“One moment, Pa!” she calls back.

Caduceus feels his heart sink at the idea of being alone with his illness again. It must show on his face, because Calysta shoots him a look of pity.

“Mama will be by in a few minutes to check on you,” She assures him. He nods. “And I can send Corrin and Cleo to keep you company after chores,” She says. He nods again, slightly more cheerful. “And… and I can try to convince CJ to run into town after the meeting and get you something.”

Caduceus breaks into a massive smile.

“But don’t tell the others!”

Caduceus nods emphatically in agreement, still beaming.

“This is between us, and if he gets you marzipan I get half.”

Caduceus nods conspiratorially.

“Good. Ok.”

“Calysta!” CJ is the one calling this time, “We’re running late!”

“Shit,” she slaps a hand over her mouth, “Don’t repeat that word and if you do you heard it from Calais!” she says as she hurries out the door.

“Ok,” Caduceus croaks, but the room is empty and he’s alone again.

 

* * *

Mama comes by within the hour, just as Calysta said. She does another round of Cure Wounds that feels good in the moment but doesn’t do much to ease his stomach.

“How are you feeling, honey?” she asks when she’s done, pushing his hair back and feeling his forehead for a fever.

(Caduceus is actually eerily cold, but she doesn’t let it show on her face.)

“Still tummy,” he rasps, “Worse.”

“Hm,” she says thoughtfully, petting his head as she looks off into the middle distance. She does that a lot. When he was younger, Caduceus always thought the Wildmother was talking to her. Calais says that’s not how it works, but Camilla says that’s sort of right. “Technically not wrong,” are the words she used to Calais, who shrugged indifferently.

CJ was the one who explained Mama was usually praying. They’d gone with Mama and Papa to the gorge and were watching her use a pickaxe to chisel stones off the southern side for headstones. Papa held the rope to suspend her and Caduceus sat on CJ’s shoulders as he rolled one of the boulders into the cart.

_“She thinks a lot, but she prays even more,” he explained, “The Wildmother is very important to her, so they’re always talking, even if the Wildmother doesn’t have time to respond.”_

_“That’s neat,” Caduceus said. Because it was. His Mama is pretty cool._

_“It is,” CJ agreed, “her relationship to the Wildmother is why she has so much magic. And if you pray like her, you might have just as much one day.”_

_“Woah,” Caduceus breathed, “That would be really great.”_

_“It sure would,” CJ agreed, just as wistfully, “Really great.”_

Caduceus watches his mother now, still petting his head comfortingly, and wonders if she’s praying about him. He hopes so. He knows the Wildmother is always watching over him, but something about knowing his Mama specifically asked Her makes him feel better, especially when he’s so sick.

“She’s watching over you,” Mama murmurs, as if she read his mind, eyes distant, “You wouldn’t be here if She wasn’t.”

He nods under her soothing hand, and the motion seems to snap her out of whatever trance she was in. She smiles down at him warmly.

“You’re a very strong boy, Caduceus,” she says, “You always were, but this proves it.” Her smile is infectious and he grins back.

“When you’re better, maybe I can teach you another cantrip,” she says thoughtfully, “You could cook up so much trouble with Thaumaturgy.”

He sits up and nods eagerly; Clarabelle knows this one, and last week she used it to make it sound like direwolves were outside of the outhouse so he couldn’t leave for an hour. Getting revenge on her has been at the back of his mind since.

“Thaumaturgy it is!” Mama laughs. “The hand motion is very simple,” she points and the bedside lantern lights itself, “And when you get very good you don’t even need to say the words.” She points again and the window slams open.

Awed, he breaks out into aggressive applause. Mama gives him a quick kiss on the head.

“Soon,” she promises, “Just focus on getting better.”

A mission. He nods solemnly, tucking his blankets up under his chin to show his seriousness.

“Good job,” she agrees, standing. “I have some work to do, but Calysta says you want me to send Corrin and Cleo in after their chores to keep you company. ”

“Yes, please,” he says weakly.

“Alright, honey. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

 

* * *

Corrin is an enigma.

They’re not many seasons older than Caduceus, really. Not quite as close as Clarabelle, but younger than Calysta. Of all the siblings who are old enough to speak, they’re definitely the quietest, and they have one of the bigger hearts.

But that doesn’t mean they’re a pushover.

When Corrin bursts into the sibling nest a few hours later, their eyes are wide and panicking and they dramatically leap to catch the door before it slams against the wall. They close it as quickly and quietly as possible, and as they do so Caduceus can see Cleo gurgling happily from the sling on their back.

Corrin hurdles over him and dashes into the closet, holding the sling tight so that Cleo doesn’t bounce from impact. They make eye contact with Caduceus, holding a finger to their lips in a desperate plea for silence before huddling in the corner of the closet and Thaumaturgy-ing the door shut with admirable silence.

A beat passes, then two, giving Caduceus enough time to wonder what in the name of Melora just happened, before the front door of the house slams open with a Thaumaturgical bang much louder than Corrin’s.

Two sets of footsteps clamor around, and Caduceus hears the unmistakable sound of every cupboard in the kitchen magically flying open at once. Cleo makes a noise from the closet that Corrin hastily shushes.

The door to the nest slams open, and two adolescent firbolgs stand in the doorway, looming over Caduceus in an attempt at intimidation.

“Where did they go?” Calais asks. Behind him, Camilla holds up a fist flickering with Sacred Flame. Whether she plans to use it on him or Corrin is beyond Caduceus’ imagination.

Because Caduceus is not a dirty snitch and still slightly salty about the snail thing, he immediately points to the southern window that Mama blasted open that morning. Without hesitation Calais sprints across the room and dives head-first out of it. From the sound of it, he stuck the landing with a roll and continued sprinting into the woods behind the house.

Camilla, who is much less impulsive but equally angry, rolls her eyes and turns heel back into the kitchen and out the back door. With her speed, she’ll likely catch up in seconds.

He waits a few moments after their footsteps recede completely before giving a raspy “All clear.”

The door to the closet opens by the tiniest sliver, Corrin’s eye appearing in the crack. Apparently deeming the room sufficiently safe, they finally open it completely and step into the room.

“I owe you my life,” they say, closing the window (manually, not with magic).

“Sure,” Caduceus shrugs, “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” they admit, sitting cross-legged on the nest across from him, “But I’m going to tell you anyway so you can continue my legacy if they kill me at dinner.”

Caduceus pretends to make a pondering face before nodding in acquiescence. Corrin grins and pulls Cleo out of the sling, setting her on the nest between them.

“So I haven’t told anyone, but I may have figured out Meld Into Stone last week-”

Caduceus is delighted as he realizes where this is going.

“-and melded into the big Farstala stone - you know the one -”

Caduceus very much knows the one. It’s a massive slab. The one grave in the lot big enough for a firbolg of Corrin’s size to fit; a foot thick and 5 feet tall.

“So when Calais came by to re-etch it, I meant to pop out in front of it, but I accidentally ended up on top, which did scare him, except he apparently had the chisel in the stone and he hit it and cracked it, right?”

He’s leaning forward at this point, hanging onto every word out of Corrin’s mouth.

“So I hopped off and - oh, and I set Cleo by the J’areska Mausoleum before all this. She’s not on my back in the stone or anything she’s playing with a teething ring I gave her and under a Command not to wander off.”

“Of course,” says Caduceus, who knows nothing about infant care or magic.

(Years later, Caduceus will look back on this story, think about how Command only lasts for six seconds, and marvel at the fact that Cleo wasn’t abducted by faeries in all the years Corrin was responsible for her.)

“So I hopped off and as I do, the stone breaks, Caduceus. I’m talking snaps in _half_ . There’s a nasty grinding noise and a _huge_ thud and next thing I know Calais and Camilla are both yelling, I’m ready to lose my mind because I definitely didn’t think _this_ would happen, and suddenly I’m running for my life.”

“Oh, wow,” Caduceus is clutching the blanket in suspense now. Corrin rarely talks, and never does it when there’s multiple siblings around, but if you get them alone and on a good day, they spin the best tales.

“I give them the run around for a good two minutes - at one point I consider hopping the fence and hoofing it to the gorge when I remember Cleo by the mausoleum. By now I’m like what else could possibly go wrong, so I backtrack, right? But when I get there, Calais and Camilla are holding her hostage.”

“No!”

“Yes! So I’m half a second from letting her be their problem for the day, except I remember the raspberry jam fiasco from the last time Camilla had charge of a kid - no offense, Caduceus-”

“None taken.” He was very young, but he still remembers the Raspberry Jam Incident. He really wishes he _didn’t_ remember the Raspberry Jam Incident.

“-plus if Mama finds out I left Cleo alone I’ll get something a lot worse than etching duty. So I decide to make a power play that may have been the most clutch move of my casting career.”

Caduceus is practically humming with energy and anticipation.

“Two Blindness spells, _woosh woosh_ ,” Corrin flicks their wrists across their body in the coolest casting motion Caduceus has ever seen, “Both hit! Before they can figure out what happened I zip in, scoop Cleo into the sling, and book it to the house. Pretty sure Calais tried to Blind me back, but I dodged that plus two Sacred Flames from Camilla - don’t let them fool you, she plays dirtier than him when it’s another two weeks of etching on the line.”

As if to punctuate their point, Caduceus vomits into his bucket.

“Exactly,” Corrin says without missing a beat, “Luckily I had enough distance that I could make it to my hiding spot in time. I actually think Camilla was still Blinded ‘til she got here,” they muse, “She has awful Constitution. But you saved my life, Caduceus. They were blasting open every window and door in the house. If you hadn’t sent them on a wild goose chase, my hide would be tanned like a deer.”

Despite the taste of bile in his mouth, Caduceus beams with pride, glad to be the hero of this story.

“Oh,” Corrin winces, “Oh, that’s nasty, Cad, I can smell it from here.” They stand up and grab the bucket by the handle. “I’m gonna throw this out. Think you can handle not spewing for two minutes while I rinse it in the pond?”

Caduceus nods.

“Good. If they come knocking, I dropped off Cleo and mentioned the gorge.”

Corrin leaves, and Caduceus spends the next few minutes playing peek-a-boo with Cleo.

He’s honestly impressed with how well-behaved Cleo is. She doesn’t cry or scream often, and when she does, Corrin was always on top of it, getting her what she needs. They have some kind of parental instinct that makes them good at it. Caduceus doesn’t have it, at least not at his age, and he knows for a fact that none of his other older siblings do, since they’re the ones who raised him.

Perhaps that’s mean. Caduceus didn’t turn out _that_ bad - he would even dare to say he came out the other side of his developmental years trauma-free aside from the Raspberry Jam Incident - but none of his siblings were really suited to raise a child like Corrin is.

For context, Calais was his primary caregiver after the age of 3.

That was… that was interesting. Clarabelle is barely older than Caduceus by a few seasons, so the two of them were handed over at the same time. Calais is good at a lot of things (Caduceus is blanking on them at the moment - there’s probably at least something) but Calais is not paternal. He was more a sibling than a caregiver, even when he wasn’t supposed to be. Caduceus and Clarabelle were mostly left on their own, aside from those moments Calais needed them for a game or prank.

Caduceus spent his time observing; watching and listening to both family and nature alike. He learned a lot about how to get the most out of his surroundings at a glance. Still, Calais slacked on the more educational front, so Caduceus can tell you how to identify a Eucalyptus tree from a thousand yards, but probably couldn’t write the first letter of “Eucalyptus.” He doesn’t mind that he isn’t smart; everything he needs to know he can see or ask his siblings about.

Clarabelle adapted… differently. She had a tendency to vanish from the grove for hours at a time. When Caduceus asked Calais where she went, he’d say she got abducted by faeries or wood nymphs or satyrs. But she always came back at the end of the day like clockwork, rambling about something or other with words Caduceus barely understood. Part of him wondered if she actually _did_ visit the feywilds. Once, she came back from a particularly long absence with two small tablets inscribed with some foreign script. When he asked what it was she said “Don’t worry about it!” and proceeded to scribble the new runes in the dirt - some that weren’t even on the tablets. She still occasionally writes in it. None of the siblings know what language it is.

This is all to say Caduceus is genuinely impressed by how good Corrin is with Cleo. Caduceus grew up as a volatile trash fire raised by slightly more stable trash fires. Corrin is at least a safe fire pit, if not a fully contained oil lantern.

Calais and Camilla once tied Caduceus to a tree for six hours. Corrin actually feeds Cleo.

This is mean. Caduceus feels the heat rise to his cheeks in shame. He loves Calais and Camilla, even if they’re also kind of the worst. They just weren’t cut out to be caregivers or role models. He’s not blaming Mama or Papa either. It was how they were raised too. Aunt Chione says she was the one who taught Mama how to hold spoon.

(Firbolgs are a communal people; Caduceus’ community just happened to be limited to his siblings.)

Eventually, Corrin returns, silently replacing the bucket. It seems all their social energy for the day was spent on the theatrics of recounting their prank, because the two of them spend the next few hours without talking, just entertaining Cleo and playing mancala with the glass tiles.

It’s nice, and weirdly peaceful considering the wild ride Corrin apparently had this morning. Camilla and Calais never do come back, so Caduceus can only guess where they ended up. Corrin is a surprisingly comforting presence even without words, rubbing Caduceus’ back when he throws up, making sure he eats enough dry food to stay alive, cleaning out the Super Special Sick Bucket and giving a quick Cure Wounds on every third bout of vomiting in some unspoken agreement.

They’re taking a break from mancala after Caduceus lost four times in a row, entertaining Cleo by dangling the temple keyring that Corrin stole in front of her face and yanking it away, when Caduceus decides to finally break the silence.

“I heard a new word today, Corrin,” he says, “From Calais. But you can’t tell anyone I told you.”

“What is it?” Corrin asks placidly, jingling the temple keys in front of Cleo for her to grab at.

(They know full well Calais was etching gravestones all day and didn’t teach him anything.)

“Shit.” Caduceus says.

Corrin’s hand stills in the air, keys still swinging with momentum. Cleo takes the opportunity to finally snatch the ring and stick it in her mouth.

They lower their hand, turning slowly towards him, and Caduceus’ heart beats irregularly for a moment as he is reminded of the serious look between Calais and Camilla before he got tackled.

Instead, Corrin’s face stretches slowly into a very devious grin.

“Shit.” They say mischievously, a little glint in their eye. Caduceus grins back.

Cleo makes a gurgling noise.

“Shit!” Corrin says with urgency, wrestling the very old, very dirty keys from her mouth.

Caduceus’ stomach lurches for the second time this hour and he leaps for the bucket just in time to puke into it.

“Shiiiit.” Caduceus moans, wiping his face with his arm as he sets the bucket aside. He sees a sickly purple smear where he wiped the puke from his mouth. He glances anxiously between it and Corrin, who looks at his wrist and then into the bucket to confirm.

“Fuck.” Corrin says, settling Cleo on her back and scrambling to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a note: i've been called in for a short military obligation that'll leave me without technology access for the next two weeks, so expect radio silence through then. thank you for being understanding! posting will resume when i return.
> 
> still @[okiedokeTM](https://okiedoketm.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and always excited to chat about critical role! don't hesitate to come talk to me ❤️


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! someone in the comments last time asked for a full list of sibling names and ages, so i thought i'd link [a post detailing that and more](https://okiedoketm.tumblr.com/post/185219402593/pls-talk-about-your-clay-siblings-hcs-what-are) for you here!
> 
> to refresh the last chapter: Papa, CJ, and Calysta went on a somewhat-diplomatic mission. Calais and Camilla went on a somewhat-murderous manhunt. Caduceus vomited a somewhat-nasty purple goo. Corrin did a swear, and ran to find someone.

It takes Corrin a while, but they eventually return with help. Apparently, they had been searching for Mama to no avail and, after combing the entire grove, came across the returning “negotiating” party.

Papa, CJ, and Calysta pour into the tiny room, all flitting over Caduceus with concern and questions. It’s a little over-stimulating, especially considering he’s feeling even more violently ill and overheated today.

(CJ, who is touching Caduceus’ forehead as he is thinking this, realizes Caduceus is unnervingly cold.)

The overcrowding quickly becomes too much, and Caduceus senses the familiar sting of bile rising from his stomach. He shoves away as many family members as he can, but CJ is right on top of him and in the splash zone when Caduceus barfs again. 

This time, it’s even worse. The vomit isn’t just purple, it’s a weird consistency too; stringy and sticky like glue. It’s solid-ish, more akin to a polymer than the watery sick that’s been collecting in the bucket the last few days. 

Corrin cusses and carries Cleo out of the room, CJ yelps as it coats his tunic, Calysta and Papa are gravely silent, staring at Caduceus in a way that anxiously reminds him of Calais and Camilla before the tumble.

CJ scoops the sludge off into the bucket with one hand and casts a Cure Wounds on Caduceus with the other. It doesn’t do much - both the scooping and the spell - the purple resin is smeared around due to its viscosity and the healing hasn’t helped since he first woke up on the kitchen table. Caduceus can’t help but feel disappointed; he hates the way some threads of it still connect to his mouth, the nasty flavor and texture it leaves, the way he feels awful all the time even though there’s nothing to heal.

“Cornelius,” Papa says, “Why don’t you go… wash up,” his voice inflecting in a way that makes Caduceus think he means something different. “I’ll be out after I check on Caduceus.”

CJ seems to pick up the double meaning and excuses himself, limp wrist held out in front of him and dripping with glutinous ropey sludge from his failed cleaning attempt.

When he leaves, Papa kneels down beside Caduceus and pulls out his handkerchief, wiping the sticky residue off his face best he can. It’s firm but gentle, unlike the way Calais and Camilla always scrubbed fur off with the washcloth when he was little. 

“What are you feeling, Caduceus?” He asks, his eyes are gentle and the look makes him feel safe, but it’s a question he’s heard thirty times in the past few days.

“Tummy sick,” Caduceus mumbles, a little irritated at having to explain it again.

 “That’s not what I was asking. I need to know exactly how you feel, Caduceus. What about your tummy is sick, where does it feel the worst?” He furrows his brow and hums thoughtfully, “Is there anything about it that makes it different from usual sick - besides the color and texture of your spitup, that is.”

Caduceus scrunches up his face for a number of reasons. The first is general discomfort; he’s been feeling that a lot lately, and he’s kind of leaping at the opportunity to express it. The second is pondering; no one really asked him about the specifics before, and now that he thinks about it, it does feel a little different than food poisoning or stomach flu. Finally, he scrunches his face in concentration to formulate words for his nuanced affliction with the limited vocabulary of an under-supervised home-schooled little firbolg boy.

“I… feel like I’m being eaten on the inside,” he says, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling, “Usually it’s just like swarming bugs, but when I’m about to throw up it gets bigger. Like how a mole tears through the ground with its claws but all over the walls of my tummy. And I feel…” He opens his eyes to Papa and Calysta both leaning in very close with interest. Embarrassed by what he was about to say, he blushes and mumbles a quick “Nevermind.” 

“It’s okay,” Calysta assures him, “we want to know.”

The heat in his cheeks doesn’t go away. He’s thinking about a sensation that he recognized last night, as he was drifting to sleep. But saying it out loud means acknowledging it’s real. 

“I know it’s scary,” Papa says. Like Mama, he sometimes says things that make Caduceus wonder if he reads minds, “But sometimes you have to face our fears to overcome them, and we can help you with that.”

Worry works its way into his brow, a pout into his jaw. He looks down on his lap and fiddles with the blanket in his hands before finally gaining the courage to speak.

“I feel like how death smells,” he mumbles, “Like what it does to the body, but in my stomach.”

 

Papa’s eyebrows raise in shock and he leans back, thinking. Calysta goes pale and grabs Caduceus’ hand, squeezing it very tight.

“Oh, Caduceus,” she murmurs.

Papa’s whispers the words Caduceus knows from its use in burial rituals; Eyes of the Grave. His eyes roll back into his head and he looks Caduceus up and down with pupil-less whites, frowning darkly at what he sees. It sends a shiver down Caduceus’ spine. 

In a few seconds Papa’s eyes blink back to normal, and he scoops Caduceus into a warm, soothing hug.

“You’re very, very strong, Caduceus,” Papa says, squeezing him tighter.

Caduceus feels the pressure of tears behind his eyes for the first time since he woke up on the table.  With Papa’s arms like a security blanket around him, he shakes with a dry sob he didn’t know he had in him. He quickly buries his face into Papa’s tunic to hide it, to be closer to him, and it feels good. It feels good to finally be upset about it all. 

They stay like that for a while, Caduceus taking in as much comfort as possible. At one point Calysta begins rubbing circles in his back - similar to how Corrin did - and it breaks some sort of dam. He doesn’t hold back the tears this time when he cries into Papa’s shoulder. 

By the time Papa pulls away, ages later, Caduceus feels relief from some heavy weight he didn’t know was pressing on his heart; an amalgamation of fear, anger, pain, and even some guilt. 

With a final kiss to his forehead, Papa stands and drifts towards the door, Calysta close behind. 

“I’m going to find Mama and get this fixed once and for all, Caduceus,” Papa says.

“Get some rest, you’ve earned it,” Calysta adds. 

As if on cue, Caduceus’ jaws part into a massive yawn that taps the last of the energy from his body, exhausted from emotion. 

“Love you, tuft,” Papa uses the pet name he always calls the babies when their little patches of fur fuzz up in all directions. It fills him with a unique flood of warmth and happiness. 

“Love you too, Papa,” Caduceus mumbles sleepily, rolling over in the nest to get comfortable. 

When Calysta extinguishes the light and closes the door, he’s already asleep.

 

* * *

 

Caduceus awakens to a room showered in the light of golden hour. 

He blinks blearily at his surroundings, first wondering why he didn’t wake up in the usual pile of stirring siblings, then about the strange color of the morning light. 

It takes the sight of Deucey’s Super Special Sick Bucket to remind him of the past few days, the purple vomit, and the conversation with Papa. It wasn’t morning, it was twilight.

Muscle memory takes over and he reaches for the bucket automatically, preparing his body for the usual round of retching that follows waking up. 

Nothing happens.

Caduceus realizes he doesn’t feel like something is shredding his insides into ribbons anymore. The frequent random pangs and painful roiling are gone. Only some latent discomfort, a phantom compared to yesterday.

He sits there with the bucket for another minute because part of him suspects this is just a fluke.

It’s not. 

A thrill runs through him. He’s so excited he pushes himself up to stand for the first time in a day and a half. 

His knees are weak and he sways precariously, but he doesn’t pass out and he doesn’t toss his cookies. Caduceus is buzzing like a livewire with happiness. He wants to give his entire family a flying tackle hug. 

(Subconsciously, deep down and dark, he was afraid he’d never be able to again.)

His surging joy propels him to the door on shaky knees. Steps take time, but with determination he makes steady progress.

A few feet from the door, he hears voices. The excitement at the thought of surprising them fades when he realizes they’re in hushed urgent whispers. 

Caduceus, until very recently, was the youngest child, and knows that the only way to get anything from other people is to listen very, very carefully, then bring it up at the right time - whether it be bribery, blackmail, or a good old-fashioned heart-to-heart.

So naturally, instead of bursting out the door as he originally planned, he presses his ear to the crack and listens.  

They sound… not good. In the middle of some kind of important discussion

“-have the undead aura anymore, so the spell worked for  _ something _ .” Papa’s voice, low, with a tension in it that Caduceus can’t place. 

“But what if we got to him too late, Cornelius! He spent over a day with it eating at him, and Corrin says he still won’t wake up. I couldn’t even do it with magic.” Mama’s voice, also hushed, filled with the same urgency.  

“No. He’s alive, we know he’s still alive.” 

“So is the forest, but it sure doesn’t act like it!” 

“Calaia, please,” A chill runs down Caduceus’ spine as he recognizes the tension in Papa’s voice as desperation. “We’ll send CJ to the western temple and-”

“And, what, Cornelius? Watch our son die while we wait for the other to get back? We have no idea if the other temples even know what this is, let alone what it could do to a child with so much exposure! James Stutyard was dead in a few hours - I hate to think about what would have happened if we hadn’t healed Caduceus so often.” 

Caduceus flattens his ears against his head and whimpers. They’re talking about him. They think he’s dying. He  _ was _ dying, at least. He could  _ still _ be dying. 

(He is.)

Part of him wants to turn tail and run until he hits the gorge and throw rocks at the cliffside. Or find a place to hide in Calysta’s armory that he’ll never be found. Or abscond to the forest and live with faeries. Anything but being here and dealing with  _ dying _ .

He realizes then that the conversation outside has come to a halt. The door swings open slowly and Mama peers inside. Her eyes immediately find Caduceus, terrified and shaking violently, but very much alive, awake, and upright. 

Caduceus doesn’t have time to breathe before she’s wrapped him in a tight hug, holding on for dear life.

“Caduceus, honey, thank Melora,” she strokes his hair fervently, like she’s afraid he’ll vanish. Caduceus wonders if he will.

Papa rushes in behind her, wrapping his massive arms around both of them, closing his eyes and saying nothing. Caduceus thinks he may be praying.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Mama whispers. “I shouldn’t have doubted, she was watching over you.” 

He lets Mama murmur the praises and comfort a few minutes because he’s not really sure what to say and - honestly - he sort of needs it right now. His body shudders with some horrible emotion he can’t name. Shock, maybe.  

After a while, the mounting dread becomes unbearable. He forces the question past the catch in his throat. 

“Am I dying?” Caduceus asks, and he’s only slightly startled by how hoarse his voice still is.

Papa recoils like he’s been hit and Mama looks worried but not surprised.

“Do you feel like you’re dying, Caduceus?” Mama asks.

“...No?” he says, “I don’t really know how I feel.” he turns to Papa, “The tummy sick is different.”

“How so?” Papa asks. His voice is measured. It’s the way he talks to the families, trying to get a report on what happened without hurting their feelings. Caduceus doesn’t like that it’s aimed at him. He’s being taught to do it himself - he doesn’t need it.

(If he needs it, that means someone is dying. Caduceus knows everything has a time, but he didn’t think his would be so soon.)

“It’s only a few bugs now, and no more moles,” he says with his brave face on. 

Mama shoots a confused look at Papa for clarification. 

“The sharp pangs that induce vomiting are gone, his abdominal pain has waned but is not completely eradicated,” Papa murmurs.

Mama nods, still anxious. “CJ and Corrin said they weren’t able to feed him much, what’s left is probably because he’s starving.” She turns back to Caduceus, softening her voice. “Do you think you could handle a peanut butter sandwich?”

Caduceus nods distractedly, even though he’s not entirely sure. His stomach is still volatile, even if it _is_ less so than before. But something about Mama’s statement bothers him; the only time CJ came to visit him was with Papa, and he didn’t even offer food. Corrin at least tried (unsuccessfully) to help him keep down some torn chunks of pita this morning.

He blinks and realizes he wasn’t paying attention. Mama is gone now, likely getting the sandwich, and Papa is sitting him upright against the nest pillows after presumably carrying him back over.

 “Caduceus?” Papa asks, concern knitting his eyebrows.

“Yes?” he replies, and Papa’s tense shoulders sag in relief. Maybe he dissociated longer than he thought.

“I asked if you remember what you said to me before, about how you were feeling.”  

“I said there’s less bugs and the moles are gone,” he repeats obediently. Papa looks a bit relieved that he was conscious for the conversation, but it clearly wasn’t what he was looking for.

“That’s right, but I was talking about a while ago, when we had our talk with Calysta.” 

“I said… I said I felt like how death smells.”

Papa nods, “And do you feel like that now, or did it leave with- with the moles and the bugs?”

He’s studying Caduceus now, his eyes running over his face and body, searching desperately for any clues he could possibly pick up about his condition. Caduceus wishes he had some clues too. All he has is how he feels, and his body keeps disappointing him. Betraying him. Papa looks hopeful, but Caduceus knows he expects what he’s about to say. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“It’s still there,” Caduceus says, “It’s very small, but I can feel it.”

Papa closes his eyes and nods. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me, Caduceus.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he minds his manners.

“You’re welcome.”

Papa lets out a huff of air resembling a disbelieving laugh. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting to hear something so mundane in a conversation with his son about feeling death decay him from the inside out.

“It- don’t worry about it, Caduceus,” Papa says, “We’re finding a way to fix it, and it probably feels awful, but for now it’s okay to just not worry about it.”

Caduceus is surprised to find he believes him. Something about the way Papa says it. Maybe he isn’t dying.

(Or maybe he’s dying very, very slowly. Kinda like everyone is, but slightly faster than that.)

“Alright.” Caduceus says, “I won’t worry about it.”

Papa flashes a small grin, and Mama bustles through the door in that moment with a waterskin and a peanut butter sandwich. The moment she sets both in front of him, Caduceus realizes he hasn’t kept down anything he ate or drank the past two days.

He snatches the sandwich and finishes the first triangle in two bites, then grabs the waterskin and chugs the entire thing without taking a breath. He finishes it off by shoving the second triangle into his mouth whole and swallowing with three quick chews.

Everything is gone within twelve seconds.  

“Sweet Melora,” Papa swears.

“I think he beat Calais’ record,” Mama agrees, “I’d offer to make you another one but if you keep eating like that you’re going to vomit from system shock alone, honeybee.”

As much as Caduceus desperately wants to inhale seven more sandwiches like a vacuum cleaner, he also hates the idea of vomiting again. Mama softens at the disappointment on his face.

“How about we wait half an hour on the sandwich, but I can bring you some more water-” Caduceus’ face lights up, “-to  _ sip on _ through a reed so you don’t drown yourself.”

He gives a mischievous grin but nods in concession.

“Alright, alright,” Mama walks across the room, “I’ll have CJ-”

She opens the door and seven firbolg children of comedically varying sizes tumble into the room, landing on top of each other in a pile of limbs. Corrin, whose legs are pinned under Camilla’s entire body, holds Cleo out of the pile above their head like a trophy, keeping her just out of crushing range.

“You said it was safe!” Calais snaps, dragging himself out from underneath Calysta’s cartoonishly large and heavy armor with a  _ clang _ .

“It sounded like she was across the room!” CJ snaps back, swiping at him with his foot and missing horribly, “It’s not like anyone else said anything!”

“Because it was your job to give the signal.” Camilla says, staring at the ceiling with no attempt to get off of Corrin. 

“This is why Caduceus is always the lookout.” Clarabelle mutters, laying spread eagle in a mirror image to her sister.

CJ swipes his foot at her face too but misses again, clocking Camilla instead. She bolts upright and squawks indignantly

“Bring it, Corncake!” Camilla shouts, and connects the heel of her moccasin square to his chest. It knocks the wind out of him and sends him tumbling into Calais, who falls on top of Calysta, who further squishes Corrin, who grabs the nearest ponytail in retaliation and _yanks_ , earning a shout from Clarabelle. 

After that, the chain of actions and reactions is lost as the pile of siblings devolves into a free-for-all. Mama quickly snatches Cleo before Corrin can use her as a bludgeoning weapon. She tries to pull Corrin out too, but they’re slippery and end up violently latching onto a thrashing Calais like a rabid koala.  

It’s an impressive battle. At one point, Caduceus sees Clarabelle sink her teeth into CJ’s leg, which is against the unspoken rules but certainly entertaining. Before he can tell if it draws blood, Calysta manages to stand, grab Clarabelle by the ankle, and dangle her off the ground. 

Every sibling is shouting and grappling, Mama is yelling and trying to break it apart with the one hand that isn’t holding Cleo by the scruff of her footie jumper. It’s fruitless. the moment she pulls one sibling out of another’s grasp, a third one pulls them back in.

Caduceus really wishes he were a part of it.

“Clarabelle is right,” he whispers to Papa, “This never happens with me.”

As he says it, Corrin’s head whips aggressively in his direction from where they’re perched on Camilla’s face. Caduceus’ eyes widen.

They unlatch immediately, race across the room on all-fours, and capture Caduceus in a flying tackle. At first, Caduceus thinks he’s part of the fray now, but Corrin's grip relaxes into a firm hug, and he melts into it.

“I thought you were dead,” Corrin whispers in his ear, “I didn’t tell the others because they would have been scared but I couldn’t wake you up and I thought you died and I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Caduceus doesn’t tell them how much it scares him, too. He just hugs back, grateful for the affection and willing to unpack it all later. Right now, he’s comforting his sibling. 

Distantly, he hears Camilla walk over too, and the rest of the siblings fall silent and get off of each other once they realize half of the royale has called it quits. There’s a jolt and more pressure on his back, and Clarabelle is part of the hug too. Each of the siblings join in one by one - even Calais, with Cleo in his arms - and soon enough, every single Clay sibling is huddled together in the nest, with Caduceus at the center.

 

* * *

 

Apparently the group hug was just uncharacteristically nice enough that Mama didn’t ground everyone for the brawl. Caduceus is very grateful, because the last thing he wants is every single sibling to get grounded over him. He’d have to wait for Cleo to grow up just to have someone to talk with again. 

Clarabelle begins chattering about everything she did while he was asleep. Most of it is nonsensical, and he’s pretty sure she talks about taste-testing mud at some point. He does not ask, and neither do any of the other siblings, though Camilla looks nauseous at the thought.

“...And then you still hadn’t woken up and so I thought you might be dying and started picking flowers for-”

Calais swats Clarabelle over the back of the head to get her to stop talking. Clarabelle clearly doesn’t take the hint but doesn’t like getting swatted, so she swats him back. They end up in a wrestling match that Calais should have won in seconds if it wasn’t for how freakishly strong Clarabelle is. Thank the Wildmother that Mama and Papa already left.

“We all were just a little worried,” CJ says over the sound of their scuffle, “She doesn’t mean anything by it. Corrin and I checked your vitals every hour on the hour, so we knew you were still alive.” He says it with the same self-assured confidence he uses to talk about how he “totally wasn’t scared” before his Final Grave Cleric Ritual.

“Right,” Camilla says sarcastically, laying on her back in the nest, “It was just a little four-day coma.”

“Cam-” Calais says as best he can with Clarabelle sitting on top of him, shoving the side of his face into the ground. 

“Four days?” Caduceus asks in a very small voice. Everyone falls silent. Clarabelle lets go of Calais’ hair. Corrin stops bouncing Cleo. Camilla’s hands freeze on the loose thread she was idly playing with. CJ and Calysta exchange a concerned glance. 

“Y-yeah, four days,” Camilla says, looking to her other siblings nervously. “Papa told you that, right?”

“No.”

It makes sense, in hindsight; the desperation from Mama, Papa, and Corrin; the weird comment about CJ feeding him; Clarabelle’s really long “day;” the way his siblings all hugged him. Their family isn’t afraid of affection, but they don’t exactly sit around waiting for every sick sibling to wake up.

His ears flatten against his head. The revelation doesn’t shock him as much as it  _ concerns _ him. What kind of snail knocks you into a coma for four days and nearly  _ kills _ you?

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder. It’s only under the steady hand that he realizes he’s shaking.

“Hey,” CJ says, ducking his head to make eye contact with Caduceus, “It’s okay, bud. You’re okay now. Mama and Papa probably just didn’t want to scare you right away, and then we all charged in and ruined the plan. Don’t worry about it. What matters is you’re awake.” 

_ Don’t worry about it. _ That’s what Papa said. It was a lot easier to follow that advice before he found out he was on the brink of death for five days. But it also gives him the sense that CJ knows something that the other siblings don’t. Something that Papa told him. 

Caduceus recognizes the best way to get information is to listen and notice, so that’s what he decides to do. He’ll find out later, he just has to bide his time. 

“Yeah,” Caduceus says, “okay.”

The rest of his siblings take turns narrating  _ their _ events of the past four days - glossing over anything pertaining to his coma - but manage to weave some interesting tales. Calysta is learning how to make armor in her forge, and made a crude breastplate yesterday. Camilla and Calais finished re-etching, but have to carve a new Farstala grave marker from scratch to make up for one “they” broke. The other siblings make fun of the two for breaking it and trying to pin the blame on Corrin. Corrin keeps the best poker face Caduceus has ever seen and flashes him a wink when everyone is distracted.  

CJ spent most of his time not with Caduceus out in the forest with Papa. (Caduceus notes how he avoids saying exactly what they were doing out there.)

The siblings know that Corrin doesn’t talk in-group so they sum up their week for them. “Mostly taking care of you and Cleo, until CJ was done. Then… laundry?” Corrin nods. Once everyone moves on to other things, Corrin makes eye contact with Caduceus and shakes their head, mouthing “nope.”

By the time he gets everyone’s take, it’s long past dusk, and crickets are chirping outside the window. Mama comes in with a sandwich, a full waterskin, and an order for everyone to go to bed. 

Caduceus inhales this meal just as fast as the first, earning a chant of “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” and round of applause from his siblings as he scarfs the second triangle down, Mama trying to silence them the entire time. 

“I was trying to get them calm enough for bed, Caduceus,” she sighs.

It takes a while, but they all settle in, once CJ shifts into “adult mode” and goes from chanting to shushing at Mama’s behest. 

Caduceus is tucked in now, flanked by Corrin and Calysta, surrounded by the rest of his siblings. It’s like the group hug, but better, in a way. Their sleeping pile is a nightly ritual that’s comforting in its mundanity. It’s familiar.

He’s not excited to go to sleep again. The thought terrifies him, really. He worries that he’ll close his eyes and lose more time, or never wake up at all. 

But Calysta snuggles closer to him, and the familiar warmth of his sister’s body grounds him. Things aren’t okay, no matter what Papa and Mama and CJ tell him, but for now he can at least pretend, and trust that his siblings will wake him up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sure, the idea of them sleeping in a sibling pile is officially jossed, but it's such a cute image i couldn't bring myself to take it out.
> 
> i'm still @[okiedokeTM](https://okiedoketm.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and always excited to chat about this fic or anything critical role! don't hesitate to come talk to me <3

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate all comments and kudos, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow us on tumblr!  
> Author: @[okiedokeTM](https://okiedoketm.tumblr.com/)  
> Artist: @[apricotsandlemondots](https://apricotsandlemondots.tumblr.com/)


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